Castle Acres
by Galaxia-Dawn
Summary: PRESENT DAY FIC: See what happens when Jack Sparrow, heir of a multimillionaire, invites a group of houseguests to his estate for a friendly competetion...Many secrets, romances, and adventures await you, dearies. Take a look?


1A/N: Wow, another POTC story. I've never been so into writing before I had fellow readers and writers to hear from; it's really nice and I want to thank all of you who read "Today, Savvy?", even if you didn't get the chance to review. I'm sorry to those who were asking for a sequel; I am definitely scheming in my head for that, but it's not really in the works yet; it is an appealing idea to me, though. About this story, it is again in present day and if you have any questions at all after reading this just email me at...Psych! Wait and see, me lovlies, and I bet you'll be surprised by the answers...But just give this a try (I know it's not the sequel, gosh!)...sing songs bribe This is very Jack filled for your en-ter-tain-meeent...

Chapter One: The Proposal

**Well, now that I'm done discussing that, I'll tell you something that has a chance of interesting you. Jack was telling Gibbs of something...something serious. I overheard them while waxing the marble statues in the Great Hall. I'm not sure what it was because I had to stop the dinner from burning (Cookie was out somewhere wandering, as usual), but I get the feeling that something exciting is going to occur soon in this dull, dark, depressing mansion which I call home. I'm scared for Jack, he's been depressed lately, more than usual. It's getting worse; I thought it was gonna be ok...I'm sure that later, I'll find out what was so important to discuss, if Jack is gonna be ok, and what, if anything, exciting is gonna happen soon...**

"Brigitte! Girl, come quickly!"

**Ok, I've gotta get back to work. I swear, if I'm not on campus, I'm cleaning this huge house. If I'm not cleaning, I'm cooking meals.**

"Brigitte!"

The young woman quickly slid her journal underneath her small twin bed before grabbing the white maid's apron from the dresser. She tied it around herself with deft fingers as she ran down two hallways, across the living room, down a flight of stairs...She raked her fingers through blonde curls, pulling them into a ponytail as she finally reached the dining room. In order to catch her breath and rub any remaining Saturday morning sleep out of her eyes, the French belle leaned against the doorway; a moment later she had to postpone her little rest in order to barge into the kitchen and keep the cook from bellowing out her name once more.

"Cookie, I'm here, what's the problem?"

The stout older woman was rosy red in the face, her plump cheeks shining from the effects of a humid-hot kitchen. Her sparkling eyes were wild and she had bits of white hair sprouting out from underneath her hair cap.

"What's the problem! My child, the master wants eggs with seasoned salt this morning, not regular salt, and I can't find it for the life of me. I'm going to get fired-he's in a bad mood, you know- and darling, I have grandkids to take care of..."

In the middle of her rant, Brigitte made her way to the eight-eyed stove, moved a jar aside to reveal another, and began sprinkling seasoned salt into the eggs. When Cookie's mouth dropped, finally silenced, Brigitte laughed lightly; the older woman sighed with deep, genuine relief before she spoke again.

"Right in front of me the whole time..."

"Aw, Cooks, what's got you so stressed out, hm?"

"Cooks" took over the making of breakfast again as the college student prepared to take out the trash. She sighed.

"I've been hearing Mr. Gibbs and Master Jack talking in hushed tones, exchanging looks...usually Jack and Gibbs are relaxed around each other, but lately...there's a seriousness about them. I'm afraid, darling."

Brigitte tied the trash bag closed and put it and the recyclables bins on a trolley cart.

"I know, I've noticed it , too. But I don't think we have much to worry about. It seems to be an exciting type of tension, not a really worried type," she replied and Cookie waved her off with a skeptical 'hmph'. She smiled a small smile to herself, _Cookie's always worrying over something, _and wheeled the trolley out of the kitchen door that led outside to the back drive. She always liked taking out the trash because, as she walked down the slanted winding drive, she could admire the beauty of The Acres in peace and quiet. That April morning felt perfectly like spring; the sun was shining and soft winds were filled with the fresh smell of rained-on grass. There seemed to be a mile of land on each side of the drive- a sparkling pond half hidden by weeping willows on the right, a barn and stables far to the left. A few minutes later the girl was sad to have to return indoors to work, disappointed by having to admire the beauty from the inside. Lucky her though, for almost instantly upon returning indoors, she ran face first into Gibbs.

"Oh ho! The outside's got ya dreamin' again, me Bridgit?" He was an old man in his 50's, and like Cookie, he had a chubby stature and mischievous eyes and smile. There was a messiness about his salt-and-pepper beard and his shaggy hair needed a cut; his hands were rough, too. If it wasn't for his neat workman's attire and lack of body odor, he would seem similar to a poor man living on the streets.

"Oh Gibbs, you shocked me back to reality as usual," she told him while straightening her clothes which had gone askew in the crash.

"Well, bonnie Bridg, that's good because Boss Man wants to see ya right now."

She raised an eyebrow. _Jack wants to see me? Now?_

"Alright. Thanks, Gibbs." She was a little surprised because, although she lived with him and helped take care of his abode, she and Jack rarely spoke.

"Bridgit" took her time walking through the kitchen, dining room, and halls, pondering about what he could want. When she reached the very rear of the home, she began her journey upward, hiking flight after flight of wooden stairs, absently running her fingers across ancient, gloomy wall paintings. When the stairs ended, she was faced with a single set of double doors which were so magnificent; with the finest wood and detailed engravings, they towered over her. The knocker was a big iron one the size of her head and the wood was so thick it was soundproof to a fist banging or a voice calling. At the bottom of the door, below one of the iron-crafted knobs, was a shiny trapdoor which allowed things to be delivered to his room without the doors being opened. There were no windows in the West Wing hall so it was dark, secluded, and uninviting.

_Just like Jack_, she thought wryly as she made the iron knocker sound one time.

"Name yourself," came the stern reply.

"It is I, Brigitte." Her tone was agitated, impatient, and sarcastically mocking but just a second later one of the doors swung open and there he stood in front of her. Her agitation melted away when she saw how pitiful he looked, how majestic he looked at the same time.

Jack always dressed up, even when there was no place to go, no one to be seen by. A pride thing, perhaps. Today, although he was still in pajamas, he looked like royalty in his red satin pants, black house shoes and matching red and black satin robe. His dark hazel eyes sported circles beneath them and he apparently hadn't shaved in days. _Goodness...he used to be so full of life; it was so easy to laugh around him_, she thought as the pair stood silently in the doorway, watching each other as though Brigitte would never be invited inside. Now the only thing about Jack that could be a clue into his past personality was his kooky twisted head of locs. _And even those are missing their random beads and trinkets_, she realized sadly when he ran his hand through his hair.

"My apologies, I became distracted, Brigitte-come in."

When he spoke, the absence of liquor on his breath was immediately obvious. She didn't mention any of her observations; instead she did as she was told, as always.

"Gibbs said you sent for me, Mr. Sparrow."

"That's true. We need to talk about your spending. I put $2,500 into your college fund each month, correct?"

She started in surprise.

"Ah, yes sir you do, and I'm very grateful for that. Is there something wrong?"

"Every month, when I go to check the amount, every month on the 17th, there is exactly $1,700 left," he informed her as he sat down at his computer. She blushed, which he noticed before turning his back on her. "Now as you know, it takes $2,000 a month to pay for your tuition..." He rubbed his growing mustache as she fidgeted. "...so I'm wondering where that other $800 is going off to."

Busted.

"It's just kind of hard to get around. I don't live on campus, I live _miles_ from campus. And if I want to go anywhere, I have to take the bus, or bum a ride- walk or pay for a cab..."

She was rambling.

"I'm trying to buy a car, Jack," she finally explained in a rush.

Almost immediately after, she cringed inwardly._ I just called him Jack_. Brigitte only ever called him that in her head or to Gibbs, otherwise Jack was 'he' or 'Mr. Sparrow'. Since he didn't seem to notice, she didn't correct herself. He turned toward her in his black leather chair and said seriously,

"Hun, if you wanted a car, you only had to ask me."

Her heat skipped a beat.

"No, Mr Sparrow, I couldn't! I know that we have a deal- I work as your maid, you pay my tuition-but..." The young woman sputtered a bit as she used her hands to express herself.

"Enough. Two days. You'll have your car, Brigitte. I can't have you blowing tuition money on that." He was so final that she found herself at a loss for words; all that she could do was give her consent with a surprised nod. "Go on now. And tell Mr Gibbs to come in because I know he's listening outside the door," he said pointedly, and because they had not fully closed the wooden entryway, a startled cough was heard from outside.

She was about to giggle, but stopped short when she felt Jack's hand on her shoulder; he had come to her side quietly in his padded house shoes while she was peering towards the door. His mouth was directly by her ear when he began to whisper:

"And...I like the way your slight French accent handles my name. But try to make sure no one overhears."

She was mortified that her slip-up had been caught; after bowing slightly she rushed across the room and once outside, pushed past the head servant with a quick "he's waiting".

Gibbs entered and cleared his throat.

"Aha, Mr. Jack! How are ya today?" No response. "Eh, about me listenin'...I wasn't listenin persay, I was more-"

"Gibbs. I need a solution to my problem. Fast. Time is running out," Jack stated and he began to pace back and forth in front of his large glass window. He was forrowing his handsome brow and holding his tan hands clasped behind his back; each time that he turned to pace in the opposite direction, the red and black robe billowed out like a cape. Each time that he came in front of his window he couldn't help looking out over his estate. _So beautiful. This is all my good ol'dad has left. Castle Acres and me_, he thought wryly.

"Ya know? I have been thinkin'. But it's crazed," the servant offered.

"Come on, anything's good." Jack stopped pacing to look at him anxiously.

"I was thinkin' that we can see who's really worthy to keep it."

"How?"

"A friendly competition."

Jack's face looked like he needed some rum.

"Gibbs! This isn't a game! My dad's dying, I'm heir to Castle Acres, I don't want this place to myself, I need to know that it is in good hands!" Jack was trying very hard not to shout as he noticed that Gibbs had not shut his door, as Brigitte had done earlier.

"I know, I know, Sir. That's why you have people apply. The few that we pick come to stay here for a time..."

"Are you saying...that I host a reality show crazy game to give away my inheritance!"

"Ah. No, no, no. We wouldn't allow television crews."

Jack sighed deeply.

"Look. Alls I'm sayin' is, The Castle won't let 'em survive the game if she doesn't think they're worthy. All we have to do is provide the contestants...test 'em a little..." He trailed off and when Jack looked, he saw a familiar glint in his eye.

"You know. You may be right. I can't stay here. Not with him gone. It's the quickest way to see who can."

"Now we're talkin'!" The stout little man hustled over to his master's computer desk, gently hustling Jack along in front of him. "Let's get started on makin' this notice, aye?"

As Jack sat down, there was a new look of hope in his eyes; the dark circles beneath seemed to brighten. He nodded. _This could actually work_.

Outside of the towering oak of this West Wing's master bedroom doors, stood the 21-year-old olive-eyed belle.

"So that's what Jack has found important enough to sober up for," she breathed, her heart beating fast with the news. _Things are definitely about to change around here_, she thought as she carefully tiptoed down the first flight of stairs so as not to be heard by Jack.

A/N: True story, folks. Hmm..I wonder who the contestants could _possibly_ be? Will Jack ever lighten up and let us hear his pirate accent again? And why is this Brigitte so important anyway? She's just a maid, gosh! Why does she get to be in Jack's house and I don't! Ahem. Well, there it is...chapter one...If you like it, I could use some feedback to continue :). If you don't, then I could still use your opinions, please, thanks! You know what to do, dearies...


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